


Not the End of the World

by baratron



Series: After the Crisis [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ears, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Loyalty, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Romance, Single Entendre Sausage Puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 05:36:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baratron/pseuds/baratron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the morning after Emperor Martin Septim defeated the Daedric Prince Mehrunes Dagon. It should be a joyous occasion: the end of the war <b>and</b> a new Emperor on the throne. Martin wakes up in the Imperial Palace contentedly snuggled around his lover, having <i>finally</i> had enough sleep. </p>
<p>But his lover, Alix, wakes up with the worst hangover imaginable, legacy of all the potions he swallowed the day before to keep his magicka reserves flowing in battle. His head hurts, and he worries that he'll be thrown aside, since Martin has to marry to ensure the line of succession. Fortunately Martin is a powerful healer, of mind as well as body... and he has no plans to give up his boyfriend <i>for anyone</i>.</p>
<p>Follows straight on from "Lighting the Dragonfires" and will probably make little sense without it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not the End of the World

I woke up the next morning to bright sunshine and even brighter blue eyes. Unfortunately, I was in no state to appreciate either of them. It felt as though an army of Dremora had taken up residence in my skull and were busy hitting my brain with Daedric warhammers, while Will-o-the-Wisps danced in my belly, giving me the worst nausea I could remember having in _years_. 

“Morning, Alix!” chirped Martin, sounding far too awake for the time of day. Since when had my lover been a morning person?

I groaned in reply, screwing my eyes shut and clutching my forehead, fairly sure that any attempt at movement would simply result in a dramatic collapse and/or vomiting. Martin leaned over and placed his hands on my forehead, casting a spell. Some sort of combination of Ice and Restoration magics, it simultaneously cooled my fevered brow and healed my swollen head. I'd be ashamed to be in this state if it hadn't been due to the battle the day before. Gulping down potion after potion to restore my magicka reserves so that I could cast the most powerful Destruction spells over and over again... 

“Hung over, my love?” Martin sounded both sympathetic and amused.

I wanted to nod, but couldn't. It would have hurt too much. Instead, I muttered “Yeah...” 

“Potions, or alcohol?” I could _hear_ the grin in his voice. The bastard! He'd certainly consumed enough potions yesterday, so how was _he_ entirely unscathed? 

Snapping my eyes open to glare at him, I grumped, “When would I have had the time to get drunk? I was as exhausted as you last night! Do you really think I sneaked downstairs for a couple of bottles of wine with the Blades?”

Martin's smile twisted. “Actually, looking at the state of you, I was thinking more along the lines of Nord mead and Cyrodiilic brandy. Perhaps even a few bottles of Skooma.”

I grunted and closed my eyes again, too sore and bad-tempered for this conversation. After a moment, Martin replaced his hands on my head and began casting his soothing spell again. It helped - I found my groans of pain turning to moans of pleasure as his touch healed my sickness. He chuckled, as quietly as he could, and brushed my cheek with his thumb.

“Poor Alix. You're so _little_. You probably only weigh two-thirds of what I do, and you drank about three times as many potions.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead, cool dry lips right in the centre where the pain was worst. “Not that I don't appreciate it, of course.”

“Mmm.” I didn't want to be grumpy when he was so happy, but it was _so_ out of character for him to be like this in the morning. Usually he was exhausted and grumpy himself.

Then it struck me – the Oblivion Crisis might have _felt_ like it had lasted for years, but in fact I'd known Martin barely three-and-a-half months. I'd only ever seen him at a time of severe stress, when he was sleeping terribly because of traumatic flashbacks and prophetic dreams and nightmares induced by the _Mysterium Xarxes_. How was I supposed to know what he was like when he'd actually had enough sleep?

Even worse – how much of Martin's behaviour over the past few months had been a _reaction_ to the past few months? What was he really like when not under stress? I thought he was the love of my life, but did I really know him at all? The treacherous thought sent my mind reeling and my belly into freefall, as if I'd been pushed off a high clifftop. I couldn't think, I couldn't speak. I must have turned pale because Martin suddenly said my name, sharply, all amusement drained from his voice. I couldn't reply. Actually, I couldn't even breathe.

Instead I fell out of bed and had a full-scale panic attack on the floor. I know what it was only in retrospect. At the time, I thought I was dying. My lungs wouldn't take in enough air, and there was a vice clamped around my heart, tightening. My body couldn't seem to decide if it wanted to thrash around in fear or lie paralysed. Martin was trying to speak to me, but I couldn't hear him through the noise in my head. Joining me on the floor, he tried to hug me; and I lost control of my magic, engulfing us both in flames.

To his credit, Martin neither freaked out, nor called for help from his bodyguards outside the door. He grabbed the jug of water on the bedside table – the one I _should_ have been drinking from all night to avoid the hangover in the first place – and dumped it over both of us. I lay with my head on his lap, gasping for breath and now rather wet. Martin seized my wrists and pinned them together, needing only one of his big hands to encircle both of mine. “If you do that again, I won't hesitate to cast Silence on you,” he said, seriously but not unkindly. I sniffled and began to cry. Disgusting though I was, he slid his spare hand under my hair and stroked my back gently. 

Eventually, I started to calm down. Martin bent down to kiss my cheek, and then my forehead. “Can I let go of your wrists now?” he asked. 

Words were difficult. I wanted to nod, but I still had a headache from the pits of Oblivion. In fact, it was getting worse again. The best I could manage was a vague noise of agreement. Martin released my hands and cuddled me, pulling me upwards to a sitting position. I wrapped my arms around him and sobbed into his brown hair. It was longer than it had been when we'd met, now an inch or so below his shoulders. Martin's arms tightened around me, and I felt him casting healing spells as his hands ran down my back. 

He kissed my forehead again. “Let's get back onto the bed,” he said, decisively. He pushed himself onto his knees, then stood up while lifting me, effortlessly. I was impressed – even though he must have been using a Feather spell to reduce my weight, it still took a certain amount of coordination. He laid me down on the bed, crawled onto it himself, then spread his legs and arranged me between them. Then he hugged me like a four-limbed starfish – arms _and_ legs wrapped around my body as he nuzzled my hair. 

“What's wrong, sweetheart? I've never seen you act like that before.” His limbs, his presence reassured me. Wearing only his underwear and holding me as closely as he possibly could - _that_ wasn't the way in which a priest of Akatosh would heal a patient. Though I still felt threatened by unvoiced fears.

He sighed, realising that he was going to have to supply both sides of the conversation. “Delayed shock? A reaction to the end of the Crisis? You know, it's common for soldiers in battle to be absolutely fine during the worst trials, then they fall apart when they get home.”

His explanation made some sense, and I seized on that word, pushing myself backwards so I could see his face properly. “Home? Am I... _home_?”

“Well, of course, love.” Martin's brow furrowed. “That is, if you want to be. I don't... I can't make you stay against your will.” Only his eyes showed pain at the thought of forcing me to do _anything_ ; but it ran deep. I thought if I looked into them, I might fall backwards through time and see the younger Martin at the court of Sanguine. I didn't want to see his humilation. I liked my lover as he was now.

“You... You want me to stay?”

“Why wouldn't I?” Martin seemed confused. “I love you.”

“Are you sure? Do you really love me, or was I just the only person around?” I knew that I was starting to get hysterical again, and I didn't know what to do about it. Martin drew back, staring at me.

“I love you.” He stated it clearly. “Do you think that I'm an idiot, or so sheltered or inexperienced that I can't be certain when I am in love with someone?”

“No, but I... Now that you're Emperor, you have far more choice than just me.”

“Is _that_ what this is about? According to you, I was already the Emperor when you first met me back in Kvatch.” He was starting to sound exasperated.

What he said was true, but “I just... I just realised how little I truly know you.”

“What?” He could have roared the word, but in fact he said it very quietly. Pushing his hands through his hair, he shook his head in denial. “You know all the important things. You know how I look when I'm happy, and how I look when I'm sad. You know how I look when I'm utterly terrified and trying to hide it, even though I can fool everyone else. You know things about my past that I haven't told another soul. You know what's important to me, the core beliefs that drive me. What... What else _is_ there to know?”

“I didn't know that you were secretly a morning person.”

“I'm not!” Martin shouted, making me grab my temples as a new wave of pain hit them. Continuing more quietly, he added, “You _know_ I rarely sleep well. It's simply that when I do, I wake up delighted. That's all.” One of his hands gently peeled away both of mine, while the other massaged the most painful spots on my forehead. He cast his Ice magic again for a few moments. 

“We need to get you hydrated,” he told me. “I'll be right back.” I heard him go to the door, and speak to the Blades outside. Returning to my side, he put his hands on my head and continued to cast the spell, slowly and calmly. 

Someone knocked on the door softly, and entered. Martin said “Thank you.” I heard the sound of pouring water, and something being set down on a table. The person, whoever it was, turned swiftly on their heels and left. 

I'd fallen back against the headrest with my eyes closed. Martin put an arm under me and rearranged the pillows with the other. Propping me up on the mound of pillows, he reached for the mug of water. He wrapped my hand around the mug so that I could control my own rate of intake, and held his own hand over the top so I couldn't drop it. I took a sip, obediently, and then found that I was terribly thirsty. I gulped down the water, and held the mug out for a refill. Instead, my lover took it away from me.

“Go slowly, love. I know you're completely hung over, but if you drink too quickly, you might throw up.”

I made another vague noise of agreement. Martin smiled, for the first time since I'd fallen to the floor, and snuggled against me. “How could you _ever_ think I wouldn't want you? I love your eyes and the brightness in them which never fades, even in the most difficult circumstances. I love the way you think, your obvious intelligence, and your ability to come up with the ideas that no one else would. I love how protective you are of me, Martin _the man_ , not just the Emperor.” He began whispering. “I love your pointed ears, and the way I can wring orgasms out of you just by touching them. And I _love_ the way you pin me down and fuck me into the mattress, so forceful despite your size.” 

I glanced down and saw his arousal, obvious in his near-naked state. Martin giggled, and blushed. “I love how talking dirty to you turns me on.”

“Mmm.” I would have liked to smile, but I still felt anxious and melancholy. “But it doesn't matter how I feel about you. Sooner or later you have to get married, and then I'm going to lose you. ”

Martin blinked, his bemusement genuine. “What? Why?”

“You'll have a wife. There'll be no space for me.”

Martin stared into my eyes, horror dawning on his face as he realised I was serious. “Alix? I... No. I'm sorry, but... no. That isn't what I expect to happen.” He dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his face hard, before grabbing his hair at the roots. Holding his floppy hair back in two angry fistfuls, he appeared to be fighting his own temper. 

Eventually, he took a deep breath and continued, as calmly as he could manage. “Alix. I love you. I want to be with you. If there wasn't a need for me to have heirs of my blood, I would marry _you_. I mean it. I have the power to change laws.”

I believed him. Martin could be terribly convincing when he wanted to be, to the point where I'd wondered whether he routinely cast Charm spells on people; but the raw emotion on his face showed that this was truth. Especially when he blinked, and a tear leaked out of one of his blue eyes. He roughly wiped it away with his knuckles. I swallowed, and poured myself some more water.

Martin took my hand and stroked it. “I have to marry a fertile woman who can bear my children. That much is unarguable. I _don't_ have to marry some naïve Count's daughter who expects to be my one and only. Emperors have had lovers since time immemorial. I wouldn't even _exist_ if that weren't true.” He kissed the top of my head, his other hand running through my long hair. “I want my children to be intelligent and clueful about how the world works. That means marrying a woman who has a good brain herself. I know that I need heirs, urgently, but I _will_ refuse any girl who is too young or simple to understand the strength of my love for you.” 

I sipped at the water, tears welling in my eyes. I didn't... I hadn't expected Martin to declare his feelings quite so strongly. It was another sign of not knowing him as well as I'd thought. But so far, everything new that I'd discovered was entirely consistent with what I'd already known about him. Perhaps this _was_ survivable. Perhaps we could get to know each other better while remaining best friends and lovers. I supposed we'd have to see. 

Martin kissed my forehead. “I was hoping we'd get to make love this morning, but you're clearly not well enough. You must have drained your reserves yesterday, even more than I'd thought. You'd better get some more sleep.” 

He took the mug from me, and set it back on the table. He tucked me back into bed, and paused for a moment, hand brushing my cheek. “I'll make sure that someone who knows their way around the Palace is outside in case you wake up. I'll be back later.”

I watched him start to dress, but was asleep before he'd even left the room.

* * *

I didn't wake up. Not until much later, when the sun was high in the sky, and my lover returned. Martin was dressed in the Emperor's robe that he'd rejected the day before for offering insufficient protection in battle, and it _almost_ suited him. His shoulder-length hair curled against the fur collar, that extra inch or so letting it settle into a frame around his face. His brown skin contrasted with the ermine fur in a way that his elderly father's papery-white skin had not. Emperor Uriel had appeared shrunken, huddled into that robe on the last day of his life; but Martin wore it the way it was intended to be worn. Its decorations accentuated his natural beauty, rather than overwhelming him. 

He looked down at me as I lay on the bed, and I gasped. Just as it had in the golden armour, his unconscious majesty flowed forth as he walked and spoke. Only his discomfort with the trimmings, the way he pulled awkwardly at the sleeves, showed that this was all new to him. Once he was more at ease with his clothing, no one who saw him could possibly doubt he was the true son of Uriel Septim.

“I take it the way you're looking at me is a good thing?” he asked, a certain amount of amusement back in his voice. I presumed that I once again resembled a living human being, rather than a still-warm corpse.

“Oh _yes_ ,” I breathed, inexcusably turned on. Well, the pain in my head had mostly gone, which meant that my usual reactions to Martin's proximity could take over. I couldn't help it: he was gorgeous.

“Mmm.” He leaned down and kissed me, full on the lips. His breath was sweet, implying that he must have cleaned up; and I'd have felt guilty for my own post-battle stench if he hadn't made out with me so enthusiastically. His hand slid under my neck, pulling me towards him as his tongue slid into my mouth, and little sighs and moans escaped whenever he came up for air. 

“Ah, gods,” he gasped, finally disengaging with some difficulty. “I meant... I meant to ask if you... if you wanted some breakfast.” His face was flushed, and his pupils were so dilated with lust that his pale blue eyes appeared dark.

“Are _you_ the breakfast?” I asked, playfully. “Mmm, perhaps... Imperial sausage?”

Martin groaned. “I meant... I meant actual _food_ , but... you're making it hard.” The last four words were run together in his hurry to get them out while he still had breath left. 

“Oh? _What_ am I making hard?” I couldn't see a mirror, but I knew there was mischief in my eyes. Lovers had commented on it before. _Martin_ had commented on it before.

The Emperor moaned, loudly. “Fuck you,” he said, the expletive making it abundantly clear where his thoughts were going. He began wrestling with his over-complicated robe, cursing it under his breath.

“Wait, love,” I said. “You might tear it. Let me help.”

“Don't care if I _do_ tear it,” muttered Martin. “Stupid outfit with too many attachments.” But he stood still, if impatiently, and suffered as I unhooked the various catches and gold chains. Once he was free from the robe, he yanked his shirt and trousers off savagely. A button came loose and flew across the room; he hardly seemed to notice. He crawled into bed with me wearing nothing but the Amulet of Kings and his underwear, the outline of his erection straining against the fabric.

Mine was doing much the same. “Gods,” I groaned. “Martin...” The two were almost synonymous, if yesterday's experience were anything to go by. That golden dragon inside him, beneath his skin... The blessing of Akatosh made visible to us as we watched him lighting the Dragonfires. I couldn't forget that. As I touched his soft skin and stroked eager fingers through the thick fur on his chest, I remembered the winged beast. I wondered which was his true form: the man, or the dragon?

The man had pulled me on top of himself: his body warm against mine, his hard cock even hotter. He began to kiss me again, roughly, hands running through my red hair. He was always a very sensual creature, loving the feel of different textures against his bare skin. I put my hands under his arse for support, and ground against his groin. The noise he made then was barely human, desperate and begging. “ _Please_...” he gasped, without any clear idea of what he was begging for. Though his cock leaking clear fluid through the fabric of his underwear made it rather obvious.

“Why are we still wearing pants?” I giggled, and pulled his away. No longer constrained, the Emperor's erection sprang forth. I was probably a bit light-headed, but thinking of Martin's cock in those terms was hilarious. As beautiful as the rest of his body, it rose from a nest of brown curls, darker than the rest of his body hair. Flushed purple at the tip, it defied gravity, demanding attention. I watched it bounce for a moment as Martin watched me, both of us wondering what I would do next. His hands came up to grab my shoulders, want and _need_ in his eyes.

I took off my own underpants. They were stained with I don't know what, legacy of the previous day's battles. Part of me, the refined mage, felt that I should be embarrassed not to have washed before getting naked with my lover. The rest of me, more practical, knew that I was only going to get dirty again, especially considering the way Martin's body was responding. It was as if we hadn't made love in _weeks_. 

I put my knee between his legs and forced them apart. Martin grunted, grabbed my arse and held me tightly. I'd have teased him by wriggling away, but he was so clearly desperate for friction. He used my knee for that purpose, rubbing his wet cock against it as I leant on him with all my weight. My hands fell naturally on his nipples, and I squeezed them hard the way he liked, digging my fingernails in and twisting. He was swearing again, a litany of “Fuck, fuck, fuck”; eyes wide and biting his bottom lip.

“What do you want?” I asked, though my lover was almost beyond speech. Under normal circumstances, I'd have rolled him over and plunged two fingers into his arse, until he was ready for me to plough him with my cock. But we were in a different place, away from our usual supplies. Horny though he was, I didn't think that our own goopy fluids would be enough lubrication. And even though we were both trained in Restoration magic, I didn't want to have to use it because I'd hurt him. 

Martin blinked, very deliberately, as if coming back to himself from a long way away. “What... What did you say?” His voice was lower pitched than usual, and sounded hoarse.

“I asked what you wanted me to do? Unless you happen to have brought some oil?”

Martin seemed to be having trouble thinking. He continued grinding absently against my knee. I could almost _see_ his brain working, like some ancient Dwemer machinery. Eventually, he licked his lips and managed, “I... No.”

“Did you want me to ask the Blades to go and fetch some?”

I'd meant it as a joke, but he honestly considered it. Weighing up the pros (being fucked) with the cons (all of the Blades finding out that we'd been fucking in a random guest bed). He was silent for what seemed like minutes, all the while thrusting against me; until I lifted my leg to help him think. He mewed in disappointment, and would have replaced my knee with his hand, but I held his wrists down with all of my strength. 

Finally, and no doubt honestly, he said, “I just want to come.” 

“Okay.”

I could think of several ways to get him off, and the question was only which one to choose. I could wrap my hands around both our cocks and give both of us a hand job at the same time. I could lie on my front and let him grind against my arse, rubbing himself between my butt cheeks. The first would require rather more co-ordination than I could manage in my current state, and the second rather more co-ordination than _he_ could manage. His thrusts had been increasingly arrhythmic. 

Instead, I remembered the terrible not-even- _single entendre_ that I'd made earlier, and buried my face in Martin's crotch. He gave a small squeal of surprise as I began to nuzzle the base of his cock. His damp curls smelled of soap, fresh sweat, and his own male fluids: three smells which were a massive turn-on for me. Feeling my own cock twitch, I rose up and dropped my mouth onto his erection, adding my saliva to the sticky mess there. He groaned, and tried to hold my head down; but I was too quick. I pulled off and grinned, licking my lips. “Mmm,” I said. “This sausage tastes _good_.”

Martin twisted, cursing. “Don't tease me,” he gasped, wanton and needy. He was writhing against the bed, arms above his head, keeping them out of the way to avoid the temptation to touch himself. Given friction in the right place, he would have come in an instant.

I relented, and went down on him. I sucked hard on his cock head, running my tongue and teeth around the delicate underside where it joined the shaft. I wrapped my hand tightly around the base, giving him something to rub against, feeling his foreskin move as he jerked up and down. I let him grab my head and hold it as he thrust into my mouth, his fingers once again combing through my hair. Then he started fondling my ears, and I lost the power of speech.

You've probably noticed that I overthink everything. Thoughts race through my brain like a galloping horse. I can be – yes, buried to the hilt in my lover – and _still_ thinking about some problem with my magical research. It's rather a failing of mine. I'd been watching Martin squirm beneath me with something like academic interest, curious about his reactions rather than a hundred per cent focused on our lovemaking. But when his hands started caressing and tugging at my ears, my brain whited out. The waves of pleasure went straight to my groin, making my balls tighten and cock swell.

My thoughts slowed to the speed of treacle. I couldn't think in words any more. All I was aware of were emotions and sensations. The unbelievable softness of the skin on the head of Martin's cock. The warm, masculine scent of the sweat gathering on his taut belly. A desperately overwhelming feeling of loving this man, and wanting to please him. And a powerful urge to rut. I found myself straddling Martin's left leg and humping against him as I licked his shaft, swallowing his erection to the best of my ability.

Martin suddenly yanked my head down with strength I didn't know he possessed. He screamed out to Akatosh as he reached his climax, shooting his fluids into the back of my throat. I coughed and swallowed, gagging against the bitter taste. As my lover bucked beneath me, I reached down and touched myself. It was mere seconds before I howled my own release.

* * *

Martin fell back against the pillow, satiated and temporarily exhausted. I sat up - sticky, sweaty and short of breath - and gulped down air. He smiled, a dazzling smile that showed his teeth and lit up his eyes, sighed happily, and reached for me. I snuggled into his arms and grinned back at him, stroking the hair on his chest. “You,” he said. “You're amazing.”

He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by a wave of sleepiness. Well, there was a _reason_ we normally made love at night. Orgasm usually guaranteed Martin at least a few hours of sleep, even if he had nightmares later. I wondered if his nightmares would be a thing of the past, now that the daedra had gone and he no longer needed to burn out his sanity reading the _Mysterium Xarxes_. Probably not... He still had a head full of guilt about his past.

I realised that my lover's eyes were open again, and he was gazing at me. “Alix?” he asked. “Did you come?”

I giggled. “Didn't you hear me screaming?”

“Well, yes, but I was hoping... You know how much I love sucking cock.”

“I'm sorry, love. I haven't had a bath yet.” It was true. Not only were my teeth dirty, I stank of stale sweat, daedra, and horses. None of them were exactly pleasant smells. “Did you _really_ want to go down on me unwashed?”

Martin laughed, shaking his head at my foolishness. “Oh, my precious love. Do you honestly think I've only ever been with nice, clean mages? I've had my share of warriors too. Some of them don't bathe unless they happen to fall into a river.”

“That's disgusting!” I hoped he was joking about the river.

“I'm sure it is, but oddly, I've never seemed to mind too much. Besides, I know for a fact that _you_ were clean only yesterday morning.” 

I blushed. “Um... Sorry?”

“Eh.” Martin waved his hand in dismissal. “It's not the end of the world.” Then he started laughing, aware that he had _literally_ saved Nirn the day before. He laughed until he choked, and tears of mirth poured from his eyes. His joy was contagious, and I was overcome by delight at his survival, at the fact that he was still physically present to touch and hold and make love to. 

We cuddled for a while, neither of us particularly wanting to move, until Martin realised he was hungry, and remembered that he'd originally come in to see if I wanted breakfast. “Go and have your bath,” he said. “I'll get someone to bring us a meal.”

I went, and washed myself very thoroughly, wishing I could keep my lover's scent even as I rinsed away the stench of battle. At least _his_ smell would be easy enough to reapply later. I returned to find a maid bringing a tray of food, accompanied by one of the Blades. It was a fairly standard late breakfast/lunch: toast, fried potatoes and tomatoes, and... sausages. Whose choice had that menu been?

Once we were alone, Martin picked up a sausage in his fingers. Making very deliberate eye contact, he licked along its length and popped the end in his mouth. “Mmm,” he said, winking at me. “I _do_ like eating sausage.”

I had to laugh. Here was the new Emperor of Tamriel: a man who liked cock so much that he even gave blow jobs to _sausages_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to mongoose_bite for beta-reading and helpful comments, including coming up with the title. Without his input, this may have been called "Sausage for Breakfast". Ahem!
> 
> I notice in reading this over how seriously Alix over-uses italics. I shall have to keep a tight rein on him in future, perhaps allowing him no more than one italicised word per two paragraphs. Fortunately, Martin enjoys tight reins.


End file.
